


"I Hate You."

by SineadRivka



Series: Nested Sparks [3]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Forced Bonding, Multi, Nonconventional Relationships, Other, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3487220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SineadRivka/pseuds/SineadRivka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three mechs are required to Bond as a Trine. Not everyone is happy about it. (Age of Ascension: Cycle 54)</p><p>Series Note: The Great War was over in most ways, leaving Cybertron to figure out how to rebuild their society. The public demanded to see proof that the three leaders and their leadership teams were willing to make peace happen - or die trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"I Hate You."

**Author's Note:**

> This was a plotbunny that didn't want to go away. So I wrote it. I have many more stories in ths universe waiting to be written, but it will be all out of order. I'll let you know at the beginning of each work when the chapter takes place, and it will be posted in the correct location within the series.

End of the Great War: Ascension Age, Cycle 54

.o.

"I hate you."

The blue and red Prime sighed, but didn't say anything to cajole the mech sitting at their third of a round table meant for smaller frames than his. A non-committal and exhausted grunt sounded from his right, and optics raised from squinting at the datapad scrawled with notes and addendums.

"I hate you. I hate your political backers and background. I hate your acquiescence to every term I've demanded of you in this contract. I hate that you've _changed_ my words to synonyms on terms rather than change the entire condition! I hate your passivity. I hate your Primus-blasted _smile_. I hate you. I _hate_ you! I hate that you can't even show any anger or indignation-"

"Mech. Enough." The silver warrior leaned forward from his disgruntled slouch. "The Prime may not show _you_ his frustration; but I have heard his rants several times in the last few cycles. He has always encouraged your voice, your wishes, as a form of rebellion against the Autobot Council. They wish to see you muzzled, and myself bound in chains and forgotten in a pit somewhere."

Raising fingers millimeters from the surface of the table to halt the argument before it started, Prime watched the Kaonite warframe struggling with his desire to defend the Iaconian from the Polihexian's wrath. "Megatron, please let Elita speak. I wish to hear _why_ she hates me. The reasons are more important than I believe you are giving her credit for."

"Pah. Sentiment." But a grin was edging around Megatron's face while he settled himself back in his too-small chair. He began another round of edits on the end-of-war contract that they were penning and negotiating while barricaded away at an old Praxian resort. All three factions retained a guard on the property, each intent to keep their leader safe from the other two sides. Last that Megatron had heard, betting and games of chance were starting to cross the faction lines. It was good to hear Optimus' voice against his own. The young, new Prime was still finding his feet and his confidence.

The entertainer-class mech bristled. "You ridicule him, too?"

"Oh for Primus' sake, Elita, cool your vents. Aren't _you_ doing exactly the same thing?" Megatron rummaged around in his subspace for a moment before coming up with external optic filters to help him read a minute scrawl in Optimus' shade of blue, offering a slightly different wording on a phrase. He didn't look back up. "Now enough of the whining and tell him _why_ you've decided to get mad with him."

"How _dare_ you-"

"Elita." Peering over the delicate frames so at odds with his build, the older mech blinked once, slowly and carefully placing the datapad down. "We are in negotiations. Emotions are inevitable, but the fact is that the Cybertronian populace is tired of war. They want to see the leaders of the three factions join in Sparkbound union as a trine to prove that we genuinely wish for peace. But we _must_ remember that we are still puppets of our _own_ advising councils that we have inherited from those in leadership before us."

 _"I am no puppet!"_ the pink frame bellowed, exploding to her feet.

Optimus sighed and spread his hands. "What do you want me to say, Elita? How do you want me to be so that I can become a suitable partner for you?" He leaned forward. "Do you wish for my submission? Do you wish that I bow to all that you demand?"

"I want you to stop acting like you have no processor of your own! You have simply changed words around on the contract, shuffled them to suit _me_!"

"No. I changed them so that they gave us _all_ freedom, as we are sentient and it is our right to be free. It is why we rebelled against the Quintessons. It is why we have warred against ourselves for two generations in brutal battles that has wiped out entire lines, lineages, sciences, information, and priceless relics and art. We wanted freedom to be able to live our lives in ways that are not dictated by another's wishes." Optimus paused, then shook his head. "Love is not necessary for a Sparkbond to hold and keep. Respect, honor, and regard for the other Spark is what keeps the Sparkbond active and healthy. The wording you suggested indicated that we were _commanded_ to love one another in a romantic sense. While Primus has directed us to love each other, the word is ambiguous in form, not necessarily meant that we must be in romantic relations with every mech we see, but to love the Spark as dearly as our own Spark is loved by Him. That is why I adjusted the wording. I wish you to be your best version of _you_ , dearspark, not the best version that _I_ want you to be for _my_ sake. The same is for your perception of myself, and I wish that you come to find me as I am, not as you wish for me to become to fit in with your view of the world." Finding no more words to say, Optimus shrugged with a small smile.

Elita couldn't take it. "But you are silent against those who wish to bring functionalism back into our culture!"

"I absolutely am _not_ silent against the Autobot Council, but it is no fault of yours that you and Megatron are barred from my meetings. I have heard their arguments, and I have told them that I will listen to their arguments, but I will not _act_ upon any measure they wish to enact until I have facts and reasons that are without the shadow of a doubt. They are stubborn, very old, set in their ways, and believe that this quiet little archivist is going to go along with every word they say. They are cocky and headstrong, and they grow more sure of their place every day, but they are unaware that we are going to create a new, equal council, elected to lead by laymechs rather than appointed by nobility."

Megatron leaned in and rested his hand over Elita's. "Your concerns are very real, General, and they are valid. I wish that you had approached Optimus with them earlier, though, rather than allowing them to fester for so long."

A knock on the door interrupted the pink mech's retort. Each leader had agreed that only two of their closest advisors would remain on premises along with the contingent of guards that were required by their respective councils. A red chevroned helm poked into the room, his stoic tone seeping dry wit to any with a trained audio. "I apologize for interrupting, Prime, but the Council desires your presence."

"Tell them to jump into the Rust Sea," Optimus _growled_ , glaring at his Second. "We're _busy_."

He didn't see Elita's mouth drop open or Megatron's satisfied smirk.

"It's in regard to the trade embargo with Vos."

Grunting, the Prime looked to his right. "Megatron, is the Winglord on premises?"

"Mm. He should be either on the ground or within the airspace of the estate. I can request of him to meet with us if you so desire."

Turning back to Prowl, he snapped, "Tell those bleating afts that if the embargo was that much of a hassle to them, I could have a meeting with the Winglord at any point this cycle."

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you." He turned back to the contract within his hands, flipping through the various documents.

"And sir?"

"Yes, Prowl?"

"I am glad that you are ignoring this recent distraction. Shall I quote you?"

Snickering, the young mech grinned at his closest friend. "Oh, please do. Thank you for your service, Praxian."

"Always a pleasure, Iaconian." Prowl shut the door behind him.

A few moments of silence was broken by Elita's soft voice. "Why did you and he call each other by city?"

Optimus looked up from where he was peering over Megatron's arm and the notes that the grey mech was penning. "Prowl was assigned as a guard for the Iaconian archives just after I was first onlined to be an archivist there. His frame, coloration, and very presence was meant to show that Praxus was honoring Iacon with a gift of one of their rising stars. That was how we first greeted each other before we began to really talk with each other. And now, it's a reminder to each other that we are bound to one another as friends through our past and our interest in uniting Cybertron together without it being divided by political or geographical differences."

The pink mech grunted in acknowledgement, then sighed. "I owe you an apology."

"Only if I may offer my own."

"I lost my temper at you, Optimus."

"And I have been attempting to understand what being a Prime means and have allowed that to take all of my free time, and neglected the time I should have been spending with you."

"But-"

"Pit, will you two just kiss and make up?" Megatron grumbled, standing with a huffed laugh. He leaned down, captured Optimus' chin with his hand and pressed a kiss to the Autobot's nose. "You, stop stressing about Primacy; your Spark is suited for it more than Sentinel's ever could have been. You'll understand more of your duties with time and instruction from that relic taking up space in your chest." Repeating the action with Elita, he added, "You, stop letting your processor get in the way of your Spark. Optimus is a good mech, but he is not as dominant personality as I am; you need to invite him to take steps."

"This is true," the red mech admitted with a rueful grin and a blush. He was rarely of a mind to take charge unless he was absolutely sure of no other option.

"I'm hunting down my Winglord; I've ordered warmed Energon for two in the courtyard and told anyone that if they disturbed your conversation, they get to be my sparring partner for the next four cycles. Elita, Jazz has already informed me that he plans on interrupting." The door closed behind an aft that both mechs silently admired on the way out.

"Pushy old gear-grinder."

"He is at that, but slag me, that aft."

"Mm. Will you wax eloquent about the subject of our most domineering almost-Trinemate's frame?"

Chuckling, Optimus stood and offered his hand to the Polihexian. "I might, but only if I have a sympathetic audio."

She snorted and took his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. As an entertainer's frame, hers was lighter than his reformatted Prime frame, lithe and swift as a former dancer. She was deadly in many ways because of this. Optimus was built strong, but without much extra armor, unlike Megatron's war-build. He took a moment to admire her smaller hand in his, then sighed and murmured, "But I could just as equally spend cycles murmuring of your beauty to any open audial, sympathetic or no. I . . ." Blushing again, he ducked his helm and continued. "I see much that I admire in both of you, and feel inadequate against your accomplishments over your lifetime and Megatron's experience as a whole."

Elita stared up at his blue optics, her own lilac pair flickering as she processed the insecurities of the mech facing her. "And here I have been, demanding of you all you wish to be without giving you the chance to grow into it. Responsibility has been pushed upon you prematurely, Optimus."

"O-Orion, when it's just us and Megatronus, please. Not Optimus. I hate that name. It isn't _me_."

Reaching up touching right where Megatron had kissed, the pink mech smiled. "Not yet. But someday the name will flow through your Spark, Orion. Until that point, please call me Ariel. Shall we adjourn to the courtyard?"

Face brightening with the idea, the younger Cybertronian nodded and palmed open the door.

Megatron, Jazz, Prowl, and the Winglord Starscream all fell into the room, having been leaning their audios against the surface. Soundwave and the trio of Chief Medical Officers stood against the wall on the other side, each in a pose that suggested that they had been watching the other four listen in the entire time.

Ratchet seemed most amused at viewing the Decepticon warlord gleefully listening in like a half-grown Youngling. The broad white and red framed mech grinned. "Just make sure to come to us for physicals before you three decide to Bond, will ya? Firestar, Knockout, let's get back to where we were. Soundwave, I'll speak with you later about your concern."

"Ratchet's advice: unnecessary. Question aimed to Knockout," the large blue carrier protested in shock.

"Well, big guy, I didn't know the answer, and that old fume-runner with the acceptable paint job _seems_ to have taught an entire series of classes on your frametype before I was even Sparked. Now," and here he seductively gave the red-and-white old mech's sturdy frame a full once-over. "Can I interest you in some . . . _private lessons_?"

"Private, hell. I'm coming with," Firestar interrupted, taking the hands of both mechs and dragging them down the hallway with her. "If the public want to see some inter-faction cooperation, might as well be fragged medics and do our bit about the 'harm none' vow we've taken."

"Oh? Is that an emphasis on the 'inter-faction,' the 'do our bit,' or the 'fragged medics' that I hear?" Knockout purred.

"Pah! Younglings." Ratchet scooped one up over either shoulder. "How about we start with all three, hm?"

Thankfully, they turned a corner before anything else could be heard. Megatron looked to Soundwave, then to Starscream, each of whom were just as dumbfounded as to what happened there, the Winglord shrugging before resting hands upon hips.

Surprisingly, it was Optimus who filled in the blank. "Prowl, twenty credits that they're Trine-bonded within three cycles, and not for lack of trying beforehand. I haven't see Ratch that bouncy in a hundred decacycles."

"'Bouncy?' Priums. Ten cycles. You're on."

"One cycle," Elita piped in gleefully. "I have _never_ seen Firestar with a look so hungry in her optics. That . . . scares me. But both mechs are well within her favored types." She looked over her shoulder at her mech, who had taken the distraction to get behind them and pick up one of the datapads. "Jazz, I will eat your Spark. Put it down."

He put it back down in a hurry, gliding his way over to the door again with a suave smile. "Aaawww, don' be like that, General!" Her glare sent him easing around Soundwave's frame.

Chuckling, Optimus tugged on her hand towards the courtyard again. "We will have time later to chastise our rebellious underlings, lover. Prowl, would you mind keeping Jazz occupied?"

"Wait, what?"

"Megatron, join us."

Optimus linked his arm through the silver-framed mech's, which was swiftly pulled away to be laid across the young mech's shoulders, pinning Elita between them. Another kiss dropped to the tops of each helm. Megatron's rumbling chuckle vibrated through the air. "With pleasure."

Jazz, Soundwave, Prowl, and Starscream were left standing in the hallway with identical expressions of befuddlement upon their faces. Finally, the Winglord shook his helm and turned on his heel. "My trine begs for a video conference. But I have no blasted idea where the Prime came up with that amount of command that _Megatron_ followed him without even a protest . . ." Before his mouth could run away from him, Starscream huffed a ventilation out and started on his way back to the nearest open space to fly back to his tower quarters.

The three remaining mechs looked at each other before Jazz sighed explosively. "I'm not allowed to snoop, so does anyone want to play Strattix with some high grade? Lots. Lots of high grade, not just some. I'm not sure I'm ready to think of our medics and commanders doing all sorts of deeds together."

Soundwave gave a mighty shudder. "Imagery: unnecessary."

"You're welcome."


End file.
